


Aloha For Now

by chucks_prophet



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Creative Love Confessions, Facetime, Fluff and Humor, Friendship/Love, Gifts, Humor, Jibcon References, Love Confessions, M/M, Misha Talking About His Kids Because It Would Be OOC Without It, Reference to Marijuana but no actual marijuana was used, Sentimental Jensen, Sentimental Misha, They're Both a Coupla Saps, jensen's birthday, video call
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-28
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:08:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chucks_prophet/pseuds/chucks_prophet
Summary: “I’m going stir crazy. We built ten snowmen. Maison’s got the flu. She’s scarred for life because one of the snowman’s heads rolled off and she thinks it’s because she got him sick. I lost the battle to keep him inside so he wouldn’t be ‘outside in the freezing cold’ whilst he suffered, and now there’s a giant puddle making its way towards me, so that’s how my day’s been.”“So nothing new?”





	Aloha For Now

Jensen knows the sound all too well. That fast, high-pitched alarm that fades to a dog whistle before starting up again. Jensen should really change it, but at the end of the day, he chalks it up to iPhones being needlessly complicated beyond iFunny (It’s Tinder for memes! Seriously, how can you have a simpler interface?).

Truth is he’s grown fond of it. He’s associated the sound with the photo of him and Misha taken at the Scoobynatural premiere, next to the Mystery Van. Jensen was wearing that outfit that looked like he taught something equally important as the value of a vote and Altruism for Dummies.  Misha was wearing that dark blazer over a sky blue button-down that wasn’t even fastened at the collar. Or the bottom of the shirt. He would’ve looked like a troubled artist in New York if every hair wasn’t perfectly combed over for once and, oh yeah, like he wasn’t Superman busting out of his daytime shirt. Seriously, he even has his elbows bent with his hands in his pockets. That’s basically a superhero pose.

That was a great day. He loves that day because it was the first time he saw Misha excited over something that wasn’t charity or child related. Never mind the giant hickey he’d left on Jensen’s arm from where he’d gripped it, because the look on Misha’s face when they rolled the episode gave Jensen a rush of endorphins that healed... pretty much every minor abrasion he’d had on his body.

Yeah, he’s like Pavlov’s dog at this point.

After three rings, Jensen starts to think Misha forgot about their FaceTime date. Misha gave him the okay to open his birthday presents when he gave them to him a week ago, but then they wouldn’t have anything to discuss over FaceTime. Not like that’s stopped them before. They usually don’t have anything planned. It’s kind of like two grown adults playing Word Association. It’s amusing to, but lost on his wife, who ducks out of frame behind Jensen when Misha picks up on the fourth ring.

_“Hey.”_

“Hey. You still snowed in?”

 _“How could you tell?”_ Misha glances behind him to the frost-covered window he’s leaning against. It’s kind of beautiful, in a way. The arms of the frost climbing the window make a dense forest of bare trees to imitate a Bob Ross painting. _“I’m going stir crazy. We built ten snowmen. Maison’s got the flu. She’s scarred for life because one of the snowman’s heads rolled off and she thinks it’s because she got him sick. I lost the battle to keep him inside so he wouldn’t be ‘outside in the freezing cold’ whilst he suffered, and now there’s a giant puddle making its way towards me, so that’s how my day’s been.”_

“So nothing new?”

Misha laughs softly and quietly, as if it’s an inside joke between the two of them and the two of them only, and runs a hand through his hair. It bounces right back to its upright, untamed consistency. _“Nothing to report yet. How are things on your end?”_

“Cold. Humid. You know typical Vancouver weather. The kids are sound asleep, no thanks to me. I swear, Danneel is like the rainbringer of putting the kids to sleep. Must be all that talk about healthy gluten alternatives.”

“Oh shut up!”

“ _Hey Dee.”_

“Hey Mish.” Danneel bats her eyelids in Misha’s direction before turning back to her husband with a mock-scowl. Misha shrugs, but laughs along with her.

“ _I think it’s great Genevieve is introducing wheat substitutes into her family’s diet,”_ he says, “ _Although, it won’t be so good for_ my _health when I go back to work.”_

“Oh believe me; Jared’s ass is already compromising my immune system.” Jensen tests out leaning his phone against his laptop before propping it against his desk lamp. “Oh shit. Mish, you’re cutting out. I’m gonna give you a call back.”

“I know that look,” Danneel says with one eyebrow poised, “you needed to hang up so you could find a way to talk yourself out of doing this.”

“I can’t do it, Dee,” Jensen begs. “I mean, what if I forget some of the words, or a transition? What if the stupid thing doesn’t even come out and I bang my head in the process?”

“First of all, you’re not the dumb blonde your fans paint you out to be. You’re a brunette. Get your shit together.”

“Did you just call me—?”

“Secondly,” Danneel says, trampling right over his words, “you’ll do _just fine._ You do this in front of hundreds of people every other night. What’s the difference?”

“Because…” Jensen drops his head. “It’s the one person that matters most.”

Instead of giving him a tender reassurance before she heads to their bedroom, like a hug or a kiss, his wife tosses him his guitar pick. “Then make it matter.”

Jensen turns the pick over in his hand a few times. He’s brought back to Jibcon 2015, after his uncut rendition of “Sweet Home Alabama”. He and Misha made a good team that weekend. Between Misha’s readiness to pick up panels despite being swamped as was, and Jensen’s stubbornness to push forward for his own mental sanity. (Even though Misha will promptly credit Jensen’s Shirtgate Scandal for keeping the peace amongst the fans, because that’s Misha—finding any excuse to discredit his _un_ due diligence in every situation.)

He sets the pick down and reaches for his guitar—a trusty Taylor acoustic 114ce with the faded pick guard. He props it against the edge of the desk, out of view of his camera, but just in his peripheral. Then he brings Misha’s gifts underneath his feet and places them carefully in front of him. With a deep breath, he dials Misha again. This time, he answers after a single ring.

“ _I thought you forgot about me.”_

Jensen smiles. Looks like he’s not the only one who fears being forgotten.

“About you? Never.”

 _“You’re just buttering me up so we can switch call-times.  I’ll have you know I’m the Texas Rye of sliced breads: You can’t penetrate me so easy.”_ Misha’s eyes glaze off in the distance. A pursed smile crosses his face. The kind that, to anyone else, looks like he’s trying to hold back a sneeze, but Jensen’s lucky enough to know is out of fluster. “ _I… ha-um… Don’t you have presents to open??”_

Jensen shrugs, but even his shoulders shake with laughter as he takes the first one on the top. It’s a long thin box, which would lead him to believe it’s a silver necklace or a bracelet—except it doesn’t rattle when he shakes it. He unwraps it, pulls back the top, and chuckles softly when some of the contents fall on his hands.

“Of course you’d find me the glitteriest guitar strap the internet has to offer… and it has my name on it. Just remember, you’re inheriting this shirt, so you’ll have to deal with the glitter.”

“ _I’ve doused myself in Coppertone sunscreen and fallen on a sixteen-foot trampoline covered in glitter.”_

“Of course you have.”

_“It was for Gish last year—I had to make sure it was doable! I didn’t quite achieve the Tumblr aesthetic I’d hoped, but it was a big hit at the PTA later that day. All the kids thought I was some sort of majestic human-unicorn hybrid. The parents just thought I was bad—”_

“Shut. Up.”

Misha’s lips quirk up. _“What’s that you got there?”_

“A Signed. Led. Zeppelin. Four. Vinyl.” Jensen blinks a few times, as if that’ll erase the gift from existence so he won’t have to cope with this level of exuberance. “There they are. Plant, Page, and Jones. And it’s even signed ‘To Zeppelin Ackles’… ‘and his kickass father’! How did you get this?!”

_“A friend of a friend in the music industry kept an IOU for me after I helped build their recording studio in East Austin. He knew their manager, so I gave him an outlet to express his indebtedness.”_

“Wait. East Austin. Are you talking about the recording booth in Austin Parks and Recreation?” Jensen asks. “You helped build that??”

_“Well, I helped gather the funding and hired the people to build it. Bad knees, you know.”_

Jensen scoffs. Misha really doesn’t get it. He doesn’t get just how awe-inspiring he is. Everything he does—even if it’s just giving someone an extra dollar for the city bus—is a design to something bigger. That’s one thing he’s always envied about his best friend: He doesn’t live in the past, nor the future. He’s constantly trying to find ways to improve the quality of life around him _now_.

Misha may shrug it off, but Jensen knows how hard it was for him to ask for that return favor.

“That’s—these… are super cool man. Thank you.”

_“Now, the last one may not be anything special, but I thought you’d like to have it. I didn’t have all the time I would’ve liked to work on it, but—”_

“Misha.” Jensen’s breath catches. He runs his fingers over it, over every pop-up letter and mini wooden cut-out. From the bottom of the cover is a rabbit sitting atop a stage for a puppet show, featuring the unmistakable Great Wizard Ricardo, the Indian-Russian King, and the Elderly Old Man Who is Confused. Off on each side are the silhouettes of two people dancing—one pair a male and female with a hula hoop, the other on the right-hand side two men, linked arm and arm.

Music notes run along the sides and lead them to the title with a giant, slightly tipped wine glass that blends into puffy purple lettering that reads “Jus in Jibcon 2-9.”

Without another word, Jensen opens the scrapbook to the first page. There’s a note attached to the back of the cover that looks like it was ripped straight from a smaller book. It reads, in Misha’s blocky caps writing:

**DATE: 01/18/2008**

**GOAL #13:**

**BE CAST ON A SERIES THAT I’M PROUD OF, AND FORM LIFELONG FRIENDSHIPS WITH MY CAST MATES.**

 

The first page reflects that goal really well. It’s the first photo they took at their yearly family dinner party, with the cast and crew covering every square inch of the extended table.

Every page after is dedicated to Misha’s friendship between he and a specific cast or crew member,  told through photos from Italy.

Until page 15. Page 15 and on is exclusively moments, both public and private, shared between he and Jensen in the same country. Moments ranging from their on-stage kiss, to them wrestling in Jared’s hotel room. Misha even managed to find that photo of them stripping in the pitch black streets of Rome after drunkenly drenching themselves in a cheap bottle of Lambrusco.

Jensen still has that shirt. Not in hopes of reviving it. Just for purely sentimental reasons.

“Well, um…” Because really, what can he say that will do this gift justice? So instead he settles for “This makes my gift to you look really tacky.”

“ _My gift? Jens, you didn’t—”_

“Mish.” Jensen’s voice is steady, despite the tingly lump in his throat. “Let someone do something nice for you once in a while.”

Misha’s smile is small, but it’s friendly. “ _Okay.”_

Jensen brings his guitar into frame and rests it on his lap. “So, this was actually supposed to be your real Christmas gift last year, but it’s taken me longer than I wanted to learn this one. I think it’s more suiting now, with the distance and all, anyway. Let me know what you think.”

Taking another breath, Jensen grabs his pick and hovers over the fretboard. His wife’s words give him the courage to start playing, but it’s soft, and his voice is wobbly, mainly because of insecurities he’ll justify as wanting a goodnight’s sleep for his children. It’s Misha’s widening smile that gives him that extra confidence he needs to keep singing.

“Hello again to ordinary life  
Hello to Mondays, hello responsibility  
Goodbye to every single thing I tried to hold  
Not a day ago I'd bidden you farewell

Well, it's not fair at all  
Aloha for now  
Don't you ever think  
That I won't ever think of you  
Don't you dare to dream

That I won't dare to dream of you  
After all, it's just aloha... for now…”

Jensen reaches the end, strums that last A9, and laughs so hard it nearly rips out those tears in the back of his throat.

Misha’s eyes narrow in confusion, but even he can’t help laughing, “ _What?”_

“I—I didn’t think this through.”

Jensen flips his guitar so the opening is facing down, and begins furiously shaking it. Misha must think he stole a leaf from Jared and Gen’s not-so secret marijuana jar.

A good minute later, it falls out. Jensen picks it up off the floor and brings it into focus on his phone.

“I thought…” He sighs. “I don’t know what I thought. I guess that if I slipped mistletoe in my guitar, there wouldn’t be any question about it. It’d just be another prank, and you needing to abide by tradition. But you’re looking at me now with a _lot_ of question, because it’s not Christmas, and it’s been five years since we made that ‘aloha’ joke, and everything is outdated, so maybe—”

_“I would’ve kissed you.”_

Jensen snaps his head up. “What?”

Misha chuckles. _“I would’ve kissed you. Regardless of tradition. I’ve wanted to kiss you since the day in Neiltown, when you pretended to like lamb glands just to impress me. Of course, between that and the brains, I didn’t want to kiss you at_ that _particular moment, but…”_

“I didn’t want to lose your attention.” Jensen’s not sure what that means, but there it is. Out in the open. Searching for a pair of hands to harvest it and make it grow into something meaningful.

Misha, as always, is his gardener: _“You always have my attention, Jensen.”_

That’s all it takes. That’s all it takes for Jensen’s heart to grow three whole sizes to accommodate the love flooding through him: giving a name to the laughter and the tears stinging his throat.

“So, if I may ask…”

_“Yeah?”_

“What was goal number 14?”

Misha pauses to smile. If his eyes were watercolor, he’d be painting a dark blue storm of a thousand words, all summarized in one sentence:

_“Goal number 14… was to fall in love with one of my fellow cast members.”_

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The song in this is "Aloha for Now" by Kaleo. I thought it was way too appropriate when I stumbled across it. Obviously I had to choose a Kaleo song. J2 love Kaleo like Misha loves kale.
> 
> And yes, that was an actual Gish item last year. Seriously, I WISH my imagination was that broad. I wish I could say I tackled it, but I don't have a trampoline, nor do I have friends who own trampolines.


End file.
